He never let me drive the car, I used to hate that. Yet today here I was driving my way, as if I was chasing gold. I wiped my tears determined and squared up because I wasn’t ready to give up, I had to fight back. I geared up and sped the car to the petrol pump. I was scared, horrified and my face had turned red perhaps a reflection of my mental and emotional state. The car jerked as I accelerated instead of hitting the brakes, the pump man probably thought I was up to some funny business.
My hands were shaking and I couldn’t bring them under my control, my eyes turned cold as I read the board ‘MUMBAI -PUNE EXPRESS WAY WELCOMES YOU’. Three hour ride but I had to go somewhere near Bangalore. Some eight odd hours of driving would reach me to that valley.
I remembered the last time I had been to Lonavala with him, as I sped by the same place now. It was 9 pm and pitch dark. He never left an opportunity to tease me by calling me a bad driver. He was so wrong, I laughed; I cried and drove as fast as I could. There are situations when it’s impossible to figure out whether to mourn over the situation or to act level headedly and make things work out the way we want it.
It was almost 1pm now as I stopped at a local restaurant. The man in his mid fifties gave me an astonishing look as I asked for water. He got me a bottle of mineral water odiously as if I was there for a late dinner. His 90's TV screen read what I already knew-AIR-INDIA PLANE MK-709 HEADING FROM BANGALORE TO MUMBAI BLASTS IN WESTERN GHATS NEAR BELGAUM. 289 PASSENGERS ON BOARD. 199 DEAD TILL NOW. I checked for the hundredth time the details of his ticket again on my cell phone to assure that it was the same plane his was traveling in, I cried bitterly, my tears were beyond my control. Seeing my plight the grumpy restaurant owner tried consoling me and assured me He would be fine.
As I made my way tearing through the grim darkness, uncertain of what lay ahead, I tried to reach out to the helpline numbers clinging on to hope; as if that helpline was a hopeline. The helpline numbers went unanswered and it scared me more. For the first time I was driving through those deadly highways and for a change I overcame the fright of driving through those imposing roads, instead those roads now kindled some sort of hope to find him. The car’s headlights painted those dark roads with dull light disclosing the way as if leading me towards him. His picture was my cell phone wallpaper for he was the only one in my life, and glancing at his ever smiling face always infused positive energy within me. It was 3 am, I read ‘BELGAUM to left, DRIVE SAFELY GHATS AHEAD’ on the boards. The place was beautiful yet cruel, there were no birds singing instead only noise of brutal beatings. And then I saw the place where the plane blasted, black ashes and white draped dead bodies lay there. I inquired about him. No one could give any answer.
I was at my edge, my heart and mind refused to tread the road ahead with me, I decided to jump from the same hill if I couldn't find him.
“Hazel", I heard a familiar voice.
"Dad” I said running to him and hugging him.
"Are you mad, how are you here?’" He inquired as if nothing was wrong, as if the ghastly accident of the plane never occurred.
"I am not a bad driver", I laughed and cried all at the same time. I had found life again.
"Yes, yes, because you are my brave little girl” he said finally accepting that I am a good driver.
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